


Wild of the Blood

by LiveOakWithMoss



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Blunt description of blood and physicality, Gen, Hunters & Hunting, References to intoxicants, Valinor, Wild Hunt
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-22
Updated: 2015-04-22
Packaged: 2018-03-25 07:34:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3802150
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LiveOakWithMoss/pseuds/LiveOakWithMoss
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Aredhel as a young woman in Valinor, running with the Wild Hunt of Oromë.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> 0\. This is a story that has been sitting in my WIPs folder for months now, eying me meaningfully and wondering when I will pick it up again. It came out of my thinking about Aredhel as a young woman in Valinor, and about her friendship with Celegorm – and speculating about her own relationship with the hunt. Because if she’s close with Celegorm, I can’t imagine that he didn’t bring her with him to the House of Oromë, and this led to wild speculation about the other elves who ran in Oromë’s hunt. And in my mind, this group of hunters took shape: wild, and ancient, and very different from the ‘civilized’ Elves of Tirion – and predominantly female (because why the hell not?). So I started writing this story about Aredhel and the Hunt – and the Hunters she learned from – and her adventures and misadventures in the wilds of Valinor. Inspired by LLA, I am hoping I will start actually putting my ideas to paper and take this story from my head and set it loose!

Everything hurt.

Irissë limped into the clearing, supporting herself on her wooden staff, stiff all over and mad as a wet cat, as her mother would say.

Grumbling under her breath, and preoccupied with her bad temper, Irissë didn’t notice Tatië daughter of Tatië until the woman shifted slightly in the shadows. 

Irissë jumped, and wished she hadn’t. Great hunters shouldn’t startle so easily, but then…she wasn’t so great a hunter, was she. She felt the familiar frustration and impatience with her own abilities rise and resisted the childish urge to make a face at her staff. 

“You’re limping,” Tatie observed, and Irissë scowled.

She rubbed at her backside, trying to decide if she dared sit. “It’s Tyelkormo’s fault,” she muttered.

Tatië raised an eyebrow. “Oh, is that so?”

Irissë colored as the implication dawned on her. “Not like that!” she said angrily. “We were sparring, and he keeps knocking me down, the great brutish oaf. Always in the same place, too. Bruises on bruises…” She tried to perch herself on a log, and groaned - sitting  _had_  been a bad idea. “Manwë’s bollocks, I’m not going to be able to sit for a week.”

Tatië regarded her, her face free of expression. “There’s a nice cold stream nearby.”

Irissë looked up suspiciously, unsure if she was being teased. “Oh?”

“Might be nice to ice your tender bits.”

Irissë considered the chance that she was being mocked and decided she didn’t care; the prospect of ice cold water on her sore spots was far too tempting. “Lead on, then.”

Tatië daughter of Tatië did.

At the stream bank, Irissë hesitated for a moment before undressing. But after all, Tatië was one of the ancients, and, like all of the clan who ran with Oromë’s hunt, wore almost no clothing at all, other than the leather bandeaus that crossed between her small, sun-leathered breasts, and held the long, white skinning knives to her back. It would be foolish to pretend modesty in front of one of her kind - they who often teased her for the ‘finery’ she wore, even though Irissë was widely considered one of the least refined and simplest dressed ladies of Tirion. Brushing off the embarrassment her city-raised brain told her she should be feeling, Irissë turned slightly away and pulled her sweat-soaked dress over her head. As she kicked out of her boots, she caught Tatië wincing.

“What?” Irissë looked over her own shoulder, trying to see how bad the damage was on her low back. “Is it that bad?”

“Yavanna’s garden is blooming on your backside, lass,” said Tatië, no longer able to hold back a broad grin.

“Cheers,” said Irissë grumpily, and lowered herself into the freezing water.

As Irissë hissed and cursed, goose bumps erupting over her skin, Tatië crouched on a rock nearby, her arms crossed over her knees. Her skin was almost green, thick with the twining vines tattooed thickly over her arms, and the brand of Oromë stood out vividly on the inside of her left forearm. Irissë tried not to ogle the tattoos too avidly; Tatië’s did not move and shift out of the corner of your eye the way the ones on Oromë’s skin did, but there was an eerie life to them anyway. The Hunters started adorning themselves with the vine and thorn after they came of age, and it was with envy that Irissë thought of the inked vine that already wrapped around Tyelkormo’s wrist - she would have given much to have been able to decorate herself similarly, but she could only imagine what her parents would say. ( _You’re lucky your parents no longer hope that you’ll make a noble marriage for yourself and have just given up on keeping you presentable_ , she shot at him once, jealously. He’d just grinned at her and tried to steal a kiss as she evaded him and kicked his shins _. You can always tell your parents there’s one potential noble husband for you who wouldn’t mind the dirt and hunter’s marks…_  She’d curled her lip at him.  _You wish. I’d sooner wed a boar._  He’d laughed, more amused than offended.  _Ooh, let me help you find a suitable one! Does tusk length matter to you?)_

Still, Tyelkormo’s single vine was as nothing compared to the forest that covered Tatië, and Irissë blinked as she realized she’d been staring blatantly at the green-brown skin of Tatië’s chest for far longer than was considered polite.

Tatië seemed not to have noticed, though, as she rested her chin thoughtfully on her folded arms. “So, sparring with that Tyelkormo, were you? The brawny pale-haired one?”

“Yes,” muttered Irissë. “My stupid pea-brained cousin.”

“Handsome lad.”

“ _He_  thinks so.” Irissë was in no mood to be generous towards Tyelkormo just now.

“Talented with a staff, is he?”

“Hardly more so than me!” Irissë burst out. “He just has the dumb luck of being  _bigger_  than me. He’s no quicker with a staff than I am, he just has the advantage of muscle and weight. Hunh, the advantage of getting his build from Nerdanel’s side of the family, where they’re all built like tree trunks.” She glared into the water, the frustration flaring anew. “He hasn’t done anything to  _earn_  being better than me.”

“Mmm.” Tatië spun a water reed thoughtfully between her fingers. “What it sounds like you need is some training in fighting opponents larger than you. I could help you with that, if you like.”

Irissë looked at her skeptically. True, Tatië was lean and hard-muscled in the shoulders and arms, but Irissë had her family’s height, and Tatië stood only about as tall as Irissë’s nose. “No offense meant, but you’re not exactly larger than me.”

Tatië smiled. “I don’t need to be to teach you the right tricks.”

“What do you know of such things?”

“Child, my first sparring partner was the Lord Oromë himself. I have some experience with larger opponents.”

As if on cue, a horn rang out in the distance. Tatië straightened up, and held out a hand to Irissë, hauling her dripping from the water. “That’s the hunt. Best get dressed.”

Irissë shook herself, sending water flying, and pulled her damp tunic back over her head. “…did you ever  _beat_  Oromë in a sparring match?”

“He’s a Vala, lass.”

“But did you?”

Tatië grinned, and hefted her spear over her shoulder. “Let’s just say I took him by surprise once or twice.” 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Aredhel encounters the lady of the wilds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 0\. Based heavily on my [Vána](http://imindhowwelayinjune.tumblr.com/post/112074758458/ive-been-thinking-about-vana-and-how-little-we) [meta](http://imindhowwelayinjune.tumblr.com/post/115478891050/i-wrote-this-meta-some-time-ago-about-vana-and-i).  
> 1\. I realize I am very close to making her the Bacchus of the Valar, and her followers more than a little maenad-esque.  
> 2\. Implications of Celegorm/Aredhel and Vána/Oromë.

Irissë was lying back on the springy turf, her head in Tyelkormo’s lap and her belly round with the feast they had just consumed. Tyelkormo was lazily plaiting the little bone beads he had whittled into her hair while before them, Tatië daughter of Tatië stirred the dying fire and spoke in a low voice to Oromë, who was twisting free the skull of the stag they had killed that afternoon. The long vertebrae hung still from the horned skull, and Oromë wrapped them carelessly around one wrist as he freed the head from the spine at last. They would burn sage and sweet grass in the polished bowl of its skull, later, and give thanks for the animal who had died for their meal.

Out in the dark woods, a cry rang out. Tyelkormo stilled his hands, listening, and Irissë tilted her head, half raising it from his lap as the cry rang out again. This time it was joined by another – and another – and then a bone-chilling ululation. Irissë felt goose bumps raise on her arms. It was almost like listening to a pack of coyotes, but there was something so familiar as to be almost alien in the cries from the darkness.

She felt Tyelkormo shiver behind her.

“The Ever-Young,” he whispered.

Irissë sat up now, interested. For all the time she’d been running with the Hunt, she had never encountered the Lady Vána, nor her disciples, the wild pack of young people who reveled with her, and shared in her ecstasies. She had heard stories of them – of their joyful violence, their debauched merrymaking – but not enough to know what was legend and what was truth.

Soon the clearing was filled with the wild revelers of Vána’s pack. They were pale and wobble-legged as they descended from their draught-induced ecstasy, their sweat-beaded skin scratched and bloodied by thorns. Several members of the Hunt stood and caught the arms of listing young Elves. One stumbled and vomited into the bushes, and Enelyë daughter of Enelyë crossed to his side to lay a hand on his back and hold his dark, heavy braids out of his face. He looked vaguely familiar, and Irissë frowned, a sudden suspicion seizing her.

But Tyelkormo chuckled in her ear. “It’s not Findekáno,” he said in a low voice. “Though I thought the same when I saw him for the first time. Not to say that your brother wouldn’t look fair indeed, half-naked and bloodied by the Ecstasy…” Irissë pushed an elbow into his ribs, and his chuckle turned into a grunt.

Out of the throng of Hunters and Revelers came Vána, lithe and beautiful, her face slightly rounded with youth but her huge and pupil-less eyes – one minute white and opaque, and the next pitch-black – were anything but young. Clad only in a skirt of reeds, her breasts bare and her hair short and curling around her ears, Vána’s restless, eerie eyes fell on Oromë, standing huge and impassive by the fire. He called out a greeting to her in a tongue Irissë couldn’t understand, and Vána crouched and leapt. She alit on his broad shoulder like a massive bird of prey, and as she crouched down and Oromë reached up to touch her cheek, they looked like nothing so much as hunter and falcon, surveying the scene before them. As Oromë murmured into Vána’s ear, too low for Irissë to hear, Vána breathed honeysuckle into her open palm. These she busily crowned Oromë’s hair with, before draping herself over his shoulders like a serpent as he laughed and shook his head.

Tyelkormo felt very alert and tense behind her, and Irissë settled in against his chest, trying to relax him with her proximity and warmth. She felt him let out a breath against her shoulder and then wrap a companionable arm around her waist.

“Are you afraid of her?” she murmured, low enough that only he would be able to hear her.

His lips tickled her ear as he spoke, equally quiet. “Since when am I afraid of anything, Nolofinwiel?”

“I don’t know, Turkafinwë, but I can  _smell_  it on you now.”

He made a face at the name, and buried his face against her neck so that she squirmed. “I regret teaching you everything I’ve taught you.”

“Anything of worth I’ve learned about hunting and tracking comes from Tatië,” said Irissë, only slightly exaggerating the truth to make him give an indignant huff. “Anyway, you’ve smelled of fear ever since the Lady came into the clearing. Have you encountered her before?”

“Of course.”

“So?”

He shifted uneasily. “There’s something…unnerving about her.”

“That’s true.” Irissë watched with interest as Vána uncoiled herself from around Oromë’s shoulders and sprang back to the ground, her spine bunching and elongating in a way that was far more like a cat than an Elf. “I like that. I should be more unnerving.”

Tyelkormo growled and bit at her. “You’re uncanny enough a wench already.”

“Not enough to frighten beasts like you,” said Irissë imperturbably. “But I can always aspire to greater heights…”

She broke off abruptly as she turned her head and realized Vána was just inches away from her, having come up on her with less noise than a sigh. Irissë was by now accustomed to being around whisper-footed hunters – though she still wasn’t used to how someone as huge as Oromë moved so silently – but she jumped as she looked up into eerie, milk white eyes in a face as young as her own, and supernaturally lovely. The effect was only marginally marred by Vána’s sweet smile, which exposed slightly too-sharp white teeth. A scarlet poppy was tucked behind her ear, in the curls of her blue-back hair, and Irissë wasn’t sure if it had been placed there or if it had grown straight from the Vala’s flesh.

Of all the Valar Irissë had seen in person – and there were but few, admittedly – Vána was without a doubt the strangest, most alien, and most…alluring.

Vána leaned forward curiously, squatting on her haunches. The loose reeds of her skirt concealed little, and Irissë could see the dark slit of her sex between her splayed thighs. Irissë quickly flicked her eyes back up, and now Vána’s face was so close that if Irissë had spoken, their lips would have brushed. Vána’s breath smelled of blood and honeysuckle, and it was strangely intoxicating as it wafted over Irissë’s face. Vána tipped Irissë’s chin up with one sharp finger and studied her intently. She never spoke, not even in the old tongue that Oromë used with the Ancients in the Hunt, but there was something very expressive in the tilt of her full lips and the glint of her eyes. Vána released Irissë, and Irissë let out her breath, unaware that she’d been holding it.

Vána stretched over Irissë’s shoulder to study Tyelkormo in turn, seeming to recognize him, and Irissë could feel him tense at her back. Vána looked at him, her eyes going black, and then leaned forward, her lips parting over long teeth. Tyelkormo flinched, squeezing his eyes shut – and Vána licked his nose.

Tyelkormo opened one eye, puzzled. Irissë giggled, and he opened the other as Vána retreated, apparently satisfied, to the other side of the fire. She was speaking now, quick and light like the chatter of birds, a sound full of laughter, as she wrapped herself once more around Oromë. She kissed him, open mouthed and greedy, and then flashed away, her laugh ringing in the fire-lit clearing, the sound flaring hot and exciting through Irissë’s veins before trailing off into the echo of past ecstasy.

Irissë shivered, and took a deep breath, and tried to still her hands, which were trembling.

_The Ever-Young – Unnerving – Uncanny –_

_I would follow her in a heartbeat._


End file.
